Ruffled Feathers
by The Assassin's Pen
Summary: Altair takes his sweet time getting back from a mission and Malik is worried. And angry because he's worried. Sleepy assassins and an attempt at maturity ensue. Malik and Altair bromance/brotherly love/fluff. T for source material.


Wrote this because my sister really really wanted worried Malik to listen to Altair's heartbeat and I'm a sucker for heartbeats so here we are. I don't ship these two but fluff and bromance are always great so I tried to keep them in character. It was just for fun, one way or another.

* * *

Malik started violently when something dropped against the grate and he stood, the silver blade clutched in his hand reflecting the moonlight. A white shadow padded rung to rung with the swift steps characteristic to his lithe frame and seconds later Altair dropped through the grate and onto the lip of the fountain's molding, dragging the lattice shut behind him and locking it. When he dropped the rest of the way to the floor and turned around a very angry Malik was staring him in the face, knife held up like a teacher's switch.

"And what are you doing back so very late?" Malik demanded, his eyes glittering with anger that was masking his worry. He hated Altair. Hated that he cared enough to be kept awake waiting for him. Altair may have done a lot of damage, but in the past few months he seemed to genuinely be trying to patch things and at the end of the day they were still part of the same order and brothers at their core. Not brothers the same way Malik had been with Kadar, but brothers never the less.

Altair just happened to be the brother he wished he had two hands to strangle. Ironically he wanted to strangle him most when he was worried that someone else had already done just that. It was a very complicated bundle of feelings and Malik resented him for _that_ too.

Altair's scarred lips quirked up in a half smile, his gold eyes glittering with amusement. "Were you worried, Malik?"

Malik growled and stowed his knife angrily, turning his back on Altair. "The pillows are still in the lump you left them last night," he said shortly. "Make use of them or go back out the entire night, I don't care. Just do not leave that lattice open if you go."

"You were worried about me."

Malik paused at the door, but refused to look back at Altair, whose voice had been annoyingly surprised and sincere.

"Malik?"

He turned to look at the other assassin, who'd put his hood down and was standing with the ties from his sash in both hands, as though he'd paused in the middle of getting partially undressed for bed. His hair was ruffled from where it had stuck to his head from sweat and then been disturbed by his hood, and his eyes almost glowed in the moonlight. His brow was furrowed, as though puzzled and concerned at the same time.

"Yes! Fine, Altair, I was worried. Worried that you were going to fail and I'd have to finish your target myself, or send one of the recruits to do it before their morning routine. I do not have the time to kill your targets and finish my manuscripts," he said, turning and gesturing with as much vitriol as he could muster. "So I worry when you do not return _on schedule_."

He hadn't realized that in the middle of his rant he'd gotten progressively closer to Altair, who was listening patiently and still hadn't moved. The assassin's lips pressed together and he nodded, untying the last of his weapons and setting them aside. "I see," he said, turning back to face Malik again. His eyes searched him and Malik refused to give him the satisfaction of drawing away.

"You haven't been sleeping on the nights I return late." It wasn't a question, and Malik only pressed his lips together angrily.

Altair, against Malik's expectations, didn't mock him. "I am late because I took the extra time to dispose of the rooftop archers. By this point there was too large a crowd surrounding my target and I was forced to tail him and delay until the opportune moment. This moment arrived, and I took my target," he said, pulling a feather out of his sash and handing it to Malik. "I was not injured, nor did I skip my evening meal. I simply took bread in the market."

Malik stared down at the feather and then looked back at Altair, shocked by the maturity he was showing.

"You needn't have worried about me, Malik," Altair said patiently. "I may have been demoted but I haven't actually lost my skills."

Malik grumbled a little under his breath but his anger had simmered off and he just felt relieved. He took Altair's token of a job complete and stored it, returning to find the other assassin bedding down. He didn't look injured, just tired, and Malik felt his own weariness fold over him like a sand dune.

Altair must have felt Malik's eyes on him because he looked up and recognized the lost feeling before Malik had a chance to realize it himself.

"Malik, do you need company tonight?" he asked, and once again there was no mockery in his tone.

It was not unusual for assassins to share sleeping quarters and even sleeping space. Many of them, brought up together and trained together as they were, would sleep together on missions or in general for a whole host of reasons. Warmth on cold nights, protection during exposed missions, and, sometimes, for comfort. Their work was difficult. Horrible things happened, and sometimes if you woke up clutching your brother's robes the nightmares didn't hold so much power.

Malik didn't answer because he hadn't realized he was craving that kind of contact until Altair offered it. He was at the bureau alone a lot. The apprentices in Jerusalem kept their own quarters and their own schedule most of the time. The bureau was for assassins who were visiting for larger assignments and Malik ran it just fine by himself.

That night though…that night he knew the ache of too many sleepless nights would drag him back to the nightmares that still chased him and by Allah—even though Altair was partially responsible for them all he wanted to do was curl up next to his brother and know he was really alright.

He'd lost Kadar, he couldn't lose Altair too.

Wordlessly, he made his way over to Altair's pile of cushions and crawled in next to him. Altair usually slept on his side or his stomach. Malik had witnessed the pile of sleepy white robes many mornings when the grey of dawn was just starting to melt into gold, but tonight he settled in on his back, one arm away from his side as an open invitation.

Malik took it without letting himself think, burying his head against Altair's chest and laying his arm across his torso. He curled up on his side and let out a long breath, finally feeling some of the tension relax as Altair's body heat seeped into him. Altair rest his hand uncertainly on Malik's side and Malik hummed quietly to let him know it was okay. Underneath the softness of Altair's robes Malik could feel his gentle breathing and the slowing cadence of his heart. He curled a little tighter into that sound, his brow furrowing as he had to admit to himself that he'd really been worried. There had been a few times that night when he thought Altair had returned and it was a false alarm and all that had crossed his mind was that he'd lost another one.

Buried in the warmth of Altair's strong, slow heartbeat Malik thanked Allah sincerely that he was wrong.


End file.
